


52 vs 53 vs 15

by mildlydiscouraging



Series: the worst game ever. of all time. [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gaming, Gen, Long-Distance Friendship, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3821626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildlydiscouraging/pseuds/mildlydiscouraging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I swear to god, Tucker, if you don’t just pick up the goddamn mine and throw it in the portal, I will punch my TV so hard my hands'll go through the internet, across the entire country and ocean, and out of your fucking computer just to throttle you through the screen.“</p><p>"Dude, I'm trying! But I can't be in two places at the same time and I gotta guard the flag since <i>somebody</i> had to go and die in the first five minutes!"</p><p>"It's not my fault, okay?!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	52 vs 53 vs 15

**Author's Note:**

> point one: i have never played halo. like, ever. and i have no idea what the co-op is like so.  
> point two: read the worlds longest headcanon post abt the rest of this verse [here](http://moonfullofstars.tumblr.com/post/116961996258/)
> 
> (probably will be eventually part of a larger series)

“I swear to god, Tucker, if you don’t just pick up the goddamn mine and throw it in the portal, I will punch my TV so hard my hands'll go through the internet, across the entire country and ocean, and out of your fucking computer just to throttle you through the screen.“

"Dude, I'm trying! But I can't be in two places at the same time and I gotta guard the flag since _somebody_ had to go and die in the first five minutes!"

"It's not my fault, okay?! They sniped me through a tiny window, how the hell was I supposed to stop that?"

"If Tex was here, we would've won half an hour ago."

Church sighs and rubs a hand across his face. If Tex was there, they wouldn't even be having this conversation; she would've stolen his controller the second the game started. Speaking of Tex not being there...

“Wash, how’s that backup coming?”

The other blue's voice crackled through Church's headset. Wash must've not had time to replace his pop filter since last Thursday's game.

“We’ve got three guys back here, although it could be more, I’m not really sure. I’ve only got one clip left, so Caboose is _supposed_ to be going to pick up more.”

“Should you really be discussing your plans over open comms?” Simmons wonders before getting shushed by the rest of his team. Church chooses to ignore their scheming in favor of trying to figure out what Caboose was trying to tell him.

“I am _sorry_ , Washingtub,” Caboose yells into his headset, sounding sincerely dismayed. Church swears he can hear the echo over it through the walls and hallway separating them. “I’m trying, but this orange guy won’t get out of my way!”

“Wait, what orange-?” Church switches to spectate Caboose just in time to see familiar orange armor pop around the corner and shoot him.

“Dammit Grif!” He yells over Wash’s groan of dismay at the kill message popping up on his screen. It distracts Wash just long enough for the other three to overpower him and storm their way into the main tower, to the flag.

“Uh, guys?” Tucker asks, more than a little nervous at the prospect of going up against the entire red team on his own. “I think I’m gonna run now, if you guys don’t mind.”

“Oh, I think I mind,” Grif says at the same time as Donut chirps, “Don’t worry, take your time!”

Church watches on as Tucker runs to every doorway, only to see each is already blocked. He gets off a few shots, easily taking out Donut (“Hey, watch the armor!”), but Church was already marking down another win for the Reds. By the time Tucker’s teal armor is winking out of existence, he’s already saying, “So that’s fifty-three, fifty-two to you guys?”

Through the Reds’ excessive celebrating he can barely hear Sarge confirming, “Yup! One-upped y’all again!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Church mutters, mostly to himself, as he copies down some stats from the end screen. So what if he took it a little too seriously? At least he wasn’t the only one.

“Killed a minute and forty seconds in,” Sarge remarks. “That’s a new record for you, ain’t it?”

Thank god there was no facecam as Church could feel his face heating up behind his headset.

“Shut up,” he mutters again. Not even rival team leaders respect the position, disgusting. Assuming being the self-proclaimed leader of a team in a video game garnered any respect. Maybe the fake power was going to his head...

“Up for another round?” Tucker pipes up. “Bet we’ll kick your ass this time.”

“I’m sure you could,” Simmons replies. Church can practically hear his sarcastic eyeroll and hated him a little for it. Also, he had decided eleven p.m. was too late to be dealing with any of these people's bullshit.

“But I’ve got class early tomorrow,” he continued, “so unless you wanna play without me...”

“No!” Donut interjects. “I can’t either, and you can’t play four on two, that’s not fair.”

“Okay...” Church wishes he was used to Donut’s random outbursts by now, but he still wasn’t. “We’re still on for Thursday though, right?”

There was a general agreement before everyone started saying goodbye and logging off until Church, busy writing down more numbers from the match in his notebook, was one of the only ones left.

“Still on for Skype?” he hears Simmons ask, and he looks up to see the only gamertags still on screen were his, Grif’s, and Simmons’s.

“Yeah, of course,” Grif answers.

The way his voice goes soft makes Church feel like he was intruding on something he was never supposed to hear, along with some twisted kind of ambiguous jealousy. He quietly logs out, assuming they hadn’t even known he was still there, and pulls his headset off, contemplating throwing it at the nearest wall before just letting them fall around his neck.

Ignoring the twinge of _something_ at the framed picture of him and Tex, he gently set his controller on the side table. When he stands up and catches his reflection in the mirror on the wall, he runs a hand through his hair. _It’s time for another haircut, I guess_ , he thinks to himself, making a mental note to do that sooner or later. Another tally mark for the Red’s column on the poster on his fridge and another red “x” on the calendar. Fifty-two wins, fifty-three losses, fifteen days ‘til Tex. Pretty good odds, if he does say so himself.

**Author's Note:**

> yeaaaa bud red vs bluuuue
> 
> (p much all of this is dialogue, shockingly enough, but it makes the formatting look really weird so im a little sad ngl)
> 
> tumblr @[moonfullofstars](http://moonfullofstars.tumblr.com)


End file.
